


Yes My Lord (Through Gritted Teeth)

by cipherninethousand



Series: Two is Better Than One [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Minor Violence, pre-canon events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 17:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16246340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cipherninethousand/pseuds/cipherninethousand
Summary: Lord Ophia Anwar has finally been found, and after months on the run her family demands her return.  Her husband has escaped with her newborn son.  She can only pray it remains that way.





	Yes My Lord (Through Gritted Teeth)

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write about Mas'il's birth mother forever, and timelines don't mean jack in this universe. Ophia will return later in the series, but I realized that I hadn't written anything to establish Mas'il's birth family. This takes place during the war between the Sith Empire and the Republic, so both my Sith Warrior and trooper in this verse have stories that start long before the game begins.

A pair of soldiers drag her before Lord Achera in cuffs.  Of course, she’s contemplating the rain, back turned.   Ophia is well-versed in such tactics.  Intimidation was always her mother’s favorite.  Retribution will come when Achera wills it.  Not a second before.  One soldier shoves Ophia to her knees.  The other, carrying Ophia’s effects – her lightsabers, her vibroknife, and her wedding ring – tosses on the floor in a heap.  Lord Achera waves a dismissive hand, sending the soldiers scurrying out the door.  When the expected tongue lashing doesn’t come, fear sinks teeth into her spine.  

“Be safe, Mier,” She murmurs.

Finally, Achera turns to Ophia.  Despite the rage rolling off her, Achera has not a hair out of place, her robes neatly pressed.

“You will go with Lord Malgus.” Her mother says, curtly. “Coruscant will not conquer itself.”

Only her mother’s face is different, the corners of her mouth pinched in barely-contained fury.  Her nose wrinkles in disgust at Ophia’s windblown hair, her unkempt clothes.  The expression is so open, so unfamiliar that her senses scream ‘run!’  But only for a moment.  Anger is hardly a new thing for her mother.  It has always lurked beneath the surface, waiting for an outlet.  It is what marks her as Sith, so she has always said.

“My Lord,” Ophia replies.

She wills her voice not to crack.

Achera turns on her before Ophia can bow her head.  A crack of bone.  Her face turned. “Ungrateful child!  You disgrace your bloodline and have the nerve to – to spout your disrespect!”

This time, Ophia does not reply.  The throbbing in her cheekbone is enough to drown out the worst of her mother’s rage. But it does not take it all.  A few choice words still slip through.   _Mutt. Disgrace.  Mongrel._

“—should have stopped your idle fancy the moment you set eyes on that fool.  Make no mistake, Ophia.  I will find your whelp, and when I do…”

“That  _whelp_  is your grandson, _mother_.”

Immediately, her mother’s fingers tighten around her jaw, causing pain to shoot over Ophia’s face. “ _I will give that brat nothing_.  And you will know your place.” She says in a voice like ice. “Report to Lord Malgus.” As an afterthought, Achera snaps her fingers. The cuffs drop to the floor and Achera storms across the room.  As Ophia reaches for her things, Achera stops again – and Ophia’s fingers clench around empty air where the ring had been. “You’ll have no need of that.  No Sith has need of a trinket from a mutt.  Now go.”

Through gritted teeth, all she can manage is, “ _Yes, my lord_.”


End file.
